The Chase
by LocktheTardis4me
Summary: Takes place after supernatural season 9 finale and after Hannibal season 1 finale. Crowley feels the need to teach Dean how to use his new powers and what better way to do that than go on a hunt in Baltimore? Meanwhile Castiel and Sam are on the hunt of Castiel's grace which Metatron had hidden very very well.
1. The Awakening

Chapter One

Dean Winchester opened his eyes. It wasn't so much a thought as it was a feeling that this time he knew he wasn't meant to live when Metatron stuck him with the angel blade. Not that Dean ever tried to play by fate's rules, but being alive again felt wrong. There wasn't a simpler way to put it. When Dean first realized that he could open his eyes, he simply wished he could have closed them again forever.

But instead, he blinked.

Then, he sat up in his bed. The one that he called his own since him and his brother called this place home. That was who he was hoping to see when he woke up. Little brother Sammy, though gigantic, was a source of comfort, and regardless of how bad he felt, Dean wanted to know exactly what Sam had done to bring him back this time and yell at him for it. So when Dean turned to see Crowley standing next to his bed staring over him, he went ballistic.

Sam was halfway through finishing a swig of brandy and a thought of regret when he heard the loud ruckus from Dean's bedroom. Immediately, he was up and running, not even thinking about grabbing his gun. He slid across the hallways of the Men of Letter's bunker on the slippery stone floors, making every sharp turn until he reached the hall of Dean's bedroom. Before he even made it to the entrance, Sam saw Dean run out of his room and crash into the wall of the hallway.

"DEAN!" Sam called out and went to his brother, who was leaning heavily against the cold stone walls and covering his face with the forearm of his right arm, which was still gripping the first blade tightly. "Dean, what-how-" Sam couldn't finish his sentence. He noticed that Dean had something in his left hand.

"Sammy, don't look at me-" Dean started. Sam yanked at his brother's arms until he got one loose. It was the left one, which was holding a silver desk mirror.

"Dean what's this for?" Sam asked. Dean kept silent. "Dean!" Sam pulled at his brother's right arm harder than before, and Dean let him pull his arm from his face. Dean looked up at his brother, seemingly ashamed, and then looked down. Sam was confused.

"Dean what's wrong?" Sam asked. "You're alive… How-"

Sam heard a throat clear behind him. He turned to see Crowley standing nonchalantly with a look of slight disinterest.

"Hello Sam," Crowley greeted. Sam was shocked.

"You did this? You brought him back?" He asked. Crowley nodded, unimpressed. "I can't believe it." He pulled back his shaggy, brown hair in disbelief.

"What can I say, Dean's earned a place in the blackened charcoal pit I call a heart," Crowley said sarcastically. "Really though, no trouble at all."

"The douche-wad didn't save me" Dean piped up finally. Crowley rolled his eyes and threw up his hands. "Sam, you really can't see it?" Dean asked.

"Dean, see what?" Sam gave his brother a quizzical look. Dean sighed heavily and closed his eyes tightly, and then opened them to reveal his black, demonic eyes.

Sam was paralyzed in shock for a brief second and turned to charge at Crowley.

"WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO HIM, CROWLEY?!" Sam charged and had to stop because Crowley was no longer where he expected him to be.

"Sam, your brother's back, that's what you wanted," Crowley was at the opposite end of the hall now. Sam flipped around and charged again. Crowley just pulled the same trick again.

"Come on Moose, we can play this game all night, or I can help you both to adjust to the situation, what'll it be?" Crowley offered up his hands to them in negotiation. Sam was nearly ready to charge again when Dean held him back.

"Dean, what the hell!" Sam shouted.

"Sam, he can help us" Dean said defeated.

"Dean, I don't know what went on in your head while you were dead, but this is Crowley, man. We can't trust him, you know that." Sam debated.

Crowley raised his eyebrows. "How about I go for a little trip down south for a while, while you two discuss your trust issues, alright?" Crowley glanced at them both one last time and snapped his fingers.

* * *

"Dean, nothing good can come of this," Sam said, his hands flat against the kitchen's cold metal table.

"What, you think I don't know that Sammy?" Dean paced. One hand rested against his hip and the other stroked his chin in thought. "I mean, living, now? It doesn't feel right."

Sam furrowed his eyebrows. "Wait, you don't feel "killy" though, do you? Like before-?" Sam asked.

"-Like before I died for the billionth time? No Sam, I don't." Dean sighed and leaned against the table. "But I don't feel like who I used to be either."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sam asked.

"Nothin', just… I know I always held this grudge against myself. I used to hate the skin I was wearing, I hated everything about me. Let's face it, I was a wreck, but now, I dunno, Sam, it's like I finally look like the man I used to believe myself to be." Dean stared at his reflection against the brushed metal table. "Feels like I finally have a reason to hate myself as much as I do."

"You didn't do anything wrong, Dean." Sam counselled.

"But that's just it. I've done all lot of messed up stuff, whether it was here, or in purgatory or in hell." Dean smirked, "I mean call me crazy, but I finally feel justified in how I feel, and it feels good Sammy. It feels good."

"Yeah, you're crazy Dean," Sam determined. "So uh, anyway, What about Crowley?"

Dean lifted his head, "I say we give the guy a chance. I mean I admit I hate the sonofabitch, but I need someone to show me the ropes, right? And I mean, we've worked with him once already,-"

"No, _you_ worked with him Dean, not me," Sam butted.

"Well, regardless of who worked with whom," Dean retaliated, "He helped us take down Abaddon and we owe him for that."

"You have no idea how incredibly insane you sound right now." Sam stated plainly. "What about Cas? I mean, I haven't even seen him since yesterday, I just hope he's alright. Maybe we should start searching."

"Cas? Yeah I'm sure he's fine, just getting his can kicked by Metatron up in heaven. Don't you think we would have heard from him by now if he was okay?"

Just then Dean heard a voice from behind. "Dean."

Dean flipped around just in time for Castiel to wrap his arms around him in a hug which was highly unexpected. "Metatron said you were dead."

"Uh, yeah, about that-" Dean started, but then realized that Castiel's arms weren't letting go. "Cas, could you stop hugging me now?"

"I'm waiting for you to hug back, that's how it's done, Dean" Castiel stated, lingering. Dean rolled his eyes and finally put his arms around Castiel.

"Oh? And who told you that?" Dean asked stealing a glance from Sam who was laughing internally.

"Well, Sam did, of course." The two finally let go and looked at each other.

"It's good to see you, Cas," Dean searched his eyes to see if Castiel noticed anything wrong.

"And you." Castiel patted Dean's shoulder. "You have no idea how happy I am to see that you lived."

"Okay, Cas, what happened? Were you able to kill Metatron?" Dean asked but Castiel ignored him.

"Do you smell sulphur?" Castiel asked as he stared around the room and back at Dean. Dean snapped his fingers.

"Hey man, were you able to do it?" Dean asked again.

"Yes, yes, he's locked in heaven though, not dead." Castiel wandered around quizzically. "Something seems… off here… Dean, I saw Metatron's blade. Your blood was on it. I guess he was lying."

Sam started to speak, but Dean interrupted and was given an annoyed look.

"Yeah, it must have been from one of the homeless guys. He couldn't kill me like he thought I guess and wanted to pull one on you," Dean lied.

"Must've. Are you sure everything's alright here?" Castiel asked again, and wasn't given an answer.

"Cas, what about your grace? Are you alright?" Sam asked, concerned.

"No, actually after being in heaven I seem to be burning out faster and faster. But I had to come see if you were alright, Sam, after knowing what Metatron did, or didn't do." Castiel sat down on a stool. "I don't know how much longer I'll be able to last without my own grace. If it's even out there… I feel like… like I'm human again."

"We'll help you find it, Cas, don't worry." Sam reassured. "Right Dean?" He stared down his brother.

"Yeah," Dean answered staring back, "It's our number one priority."

Castiel stared back and forth at the boys. "There's something you're not telling me- what are you not telling me?"

"It's nothing Cas," Dean answered strongly.

"Sam?" Castiel stood up and looked to the taller one for support.

Sam sighed. "Cas, it's not good news-"

"Sam I swear to God, if you say another word-"

"Dean, he needs to know!" Sam yelled. "_He- Cas_ is our friend, the one we should trust, not Crowley!" He looked at Cas, "Dean died, Cas."

"Sam! What the hell!" Dean yelled. Castiel looked more confused than ever.

"You lied to me." He looked at Dean.

"Yeah Cas, I lied, okay?!" Dean looked extremely pissed.

"How are you walking around then?" Castiel asked, "How did you come back if you were dead?"

Dean looked to the ground. "It was the mark."

"The mark of Cain?" Castiel inquired.

"Yes, the friggin' mark of Cain, okay? Can we move on now?" Dean said. Castiel looked offended.

"That's not all," Sam said. Dean gave his brother a bitch glare and Sam gave it right back. "Either you tell him or I do, that's it."

Dean threw up his hands into the air. Castiel stared intently. "Dean, please, tell me the truth."

"I had thought that maybe you could have seen it without me having to tell you." Dean said. "The mark, it kinda… brought me back as a…" he looked down again, "a demon."

Castiel stared at him for a moment and disappeared. He reappeared a moment later with the bottle of brandy that usually sat in the library and began guzzling it down. Dean immediately stood in front of him and pulled the bottle away and slammed it down on the table.

"Cas! Cool it! I'm okay! Save the hard drinking for when it's the end of the world, why don't you." Dean returned Castiel's angry glare with his own.

"You were an idiot for getting that mark, Dean, a real idiot! It was a stupid idea!" Castiel approached him, "I am ashamed of you!"

"Yeah, well it wasn't my fault that someone opened up heaven to an insane archangel and made me clean up the mess!" Dean yelled back.

"You didn't clean up anything! You failed, Dean! And you turned yourself into a maggot because of it!" Castiel was red in the face.

"Oh, I'm a maggot, huh? Well guess what Cas, this maggot destroyed Abaddon, which was, might I add, the greatest most single threat to the world next to Metatron and I took care of it! Not you!" Dean pointed away.

"Hey, hey, guys!" Sam interrupted, splitting them up. "C'mon, we're all alive in some form or another. Can't we just be okay with that for now?"

Castiel shook his head at the ground as anger continued to take him over. Dean on the other hand turned around and started out the door.

"Dean, where are you going?" Sam asked.

"To get some friggin' air!" Dean replied. Sam and Castiel could hear him stomp his way through the bunker and finally heard him close the doors behind him.

* * *

Outside the sun was beaming down and Dean was leaning against his baby, just thinking. He was still angry from what Castiel said; what he had no right to say. But he knew he couldn't hold it against him forever.

"Not adjusting well I take it," Crowley stated appearing next to Dean on the Impala.

"I'm adjusted, hell I'm freaking spectacular right now," Dean exclaimed, "Cas is the one who's not adjusted."

"Really?" Crowley said, seeming genuinely surprised. "I would've thought he'd be absolutely beaming to see you back from the dead."

"Well whatever's up his ass, I say it's none of my business." Dean said. "What's that?" He asked, looking at what Crowley handed him.

"It's a case," Crowley said, handing Dean a red iPad. "Thought maybe you and the boys could use a little pick-me-up. Maybe you'll remember how to work together again."

" ? …what's a Chesapeake ripper?" Dean asked, squinting.

"Oh I don't know I barely skimmed through it, just seemed like you're kind of thing is all." Crowley answered. "Start in Baltimore, work your way from there."

"What's all this for, Crowley?" Dean asked, annoyed.

"Like I said, I'm helping you adjust," Crowley answered and along with the iPad in Dean's hands, he disappeared.


	2. The Teaching

Chapter Two

Dean wandered back into the bunker and saw Sam and Castiel talking seriously in the war room.

"Dean, how are you feeling?" Castiel asked his friend as he was walking down the metal stairs. He stopped.

"Why the hell do you care?" Dean replied obstinately.

Castiel sighed, "Dean, I'm only trying to help. Will you let me?"

Dean just stared at Castiel and then Sam. He shook his head and finished walking past his family and out the room, into the hallway, and into his bedroom. Sam and Castiel shared a look of concern.

"Do you think it will make him want to kill again, Cas?" Sam asked.

"I honestly don't know, Sam." Castiel said. Just then he felt a sharp pain in his gut. He cried out and then fell to the floor in a heap.

"Cas! Cas! Hey, hey, hey, you awake buddy?!" Sam ran over to him and lifted his head. Castiel was semi-conscious and tried to work his way to standing up again.

"I'm fine Sam, I'm fine." With Sam's help and the corner of the table, Castiel rose to his feet, wincing in pain. "I don't think I'll be able to last much longer without my grace."

"Okay, how do we get it back?" Sam asked.

Castiel stood up straighter. "I guess we will have to talk to Metatron, or at least one of his old followers. Maybe they would know where he put it."

"But that's in Heaven, Cas, can you even get there?" Sam asked.

"Well, I can try, but I won't be able to take you with me. That kind of act could damage me far too much." Cas replied. "But there is another way in. Since Metatron was captured, Hannah opened the gates of heaven for any angel still on the ground. I guess all we need to do is draw the spell for you."

"Perfect! Let's go," Sam exclaimed and picked up a piece of chalk from a bookcase to start the spell. Dean interrupted the two of them by making his way across the library with his large duffel packed tightly on his shoulder.

"Now where are you going?" Sam called out. Dean glared and turned around.

"Caught wind of an important case." Dean said simply. Sam scoffed.

"I cannot believe you. This- _This _is an important case Dean!" Sam yelled. Castiel merely looked at Dean, unsurprised. "Getting your best friend's grace back so that he doesn't burn out and die. What the hell is so important that you'd abandon us?" Sam held up his arms for an answer.

"I-" Dean started and looked at his brother, and then to his friend. "I just know I gotta go." He turned again and ran up the metal stairs and out the door.

* * *

"So you _did _leave them behind. Curious." Crowley appeared in the passenger seat of the impala as Dean was driving down the lone highway.

"Shuddup, douche-wad," Dean replied. Crowley ignored him.

"Any specific reason why?" Crowley asked. "I mean come on, Dean, throw me a bone, here. It's not every day you give up on saving someone you care about."

Dean slammed on the breaks and drifted down the asphalt. His knuckles white against the steering wheel. Crowley's face was priceless as he clung to the dash for dear life.

"I know you think you're being clever in all this, Crowley, I get it! You think that if I'm a demon, that you can just teach me the ways of the world and then we're gonna become best pals! Well, guess what, I ain't gonna let that happen, not today, not tomorrow, not-"

The horn of a semi-truck interrupted Dean's speech. It had just turned the corner and stepped on the breaks as well, but it was too late. Dean braced himself for the impact. Crowley reached out and grabbed Dean by the arm.

"You idiot!" He exclaimed. "Parking on the road like that, I'm surprised you haven't died more often!"

Dean looked around. He was standing in the woods with Crowley and the Impala, safe and sound. He looked at Crowley dumfounded.

"Being a demon has its perks, Dean." Crowley brushed off his suit and picked a wild pink rose from a nearby bush. He inhaled its sweet aroma and placed it on his suit. "The sooner you accept that, the better"

"You moved the car too?" Dean asked. Crowley scoffed.

"Wish it was. That was you, Dean. I held onto you and you must've pulled it along." Crowley said. "Talk about materialistic. Shall we?" Crowley motioned toward the car.

"So wait, I have super demonic powers then?" Dean asked, trying to hide a smile. Crowley rolled his eyes.

"Only the most powerful demons can do what I do. For example, teleport, and believe me, teleporting others is not as easy as I make it look. But you, on the other hand, moved a car on instinct alone. You are a vastly untapped oil well of power, Dean, but unless you learn how to control that power, it'll be no good to you."

Dean smirked, and chuckled. "…So you're like the Yoda to my Luke Skywalker?"

Crowley rolled his eyes again and sighed. "Push me." He said, and raised his arms. Dean scowled.

"What?"

"I said push me, Squirrel, go ahead. You hate me enough. Throw me into a tree using your special powers." Crowley tested. Dean closed his eyes and raised his hand.

"What are you closing your eyes for?! This is a confrontation; now push me out of the way!" Crowley yelled.

Dean gritted his teeth. His eyes were open, arm was out. Dean tried thinking of every little thing that Crowley did which pissed him off. Nothing was working.

Crowley grew impatient with his new student and flicked his finger at Dean. A large, rotting log flew at him at an incredible speed. Dean was caught off guard and raised his arms. Instead of a miraculous stop from his student, Crowley was genuinely surprised when it bowled him over, landing him deeper into the woods.

"Huh. I really thought he would have stopped it." Crowley said to himself. He walked nonchalantly to Dean's beaten body. He rolled in the underbrush. Crowley reached down a hand and helped him up.

"What did we learn?" Crowley asked him. Dean glared.

"That you're still a douchebag?" Dean answered, brushing himself off.

"What about the pain, how does it feel?" Crowley asked.

Dean shook his head in confusion. "What pain?"

"Exactly!" Crowley smiled.

* * *

Sam stepped into the bright piercing light that was the gate to Heaven. He was stopped quite suddenly by a female angel with dark hair.

"You're human, and still alive, you shouldn't be here." She said concerned.

"He's with me, Hannah," Castiel stood behind her. "It's alright."

Sam glanced around. He seemed to be in some kind of office setting, and it wasn't all like he expected heaven to be. In fact it looked more or less like a car dealership than a divine place. Hannah moved out of the way, still looking suspicious.

"Sam Winchester, we've met before" He introduced himself to Hannah who nodded and tried to smile back at him. "We're here to find Cas' grace. You wouldn't happen to know where Metatron could have stashed it do you?"

Hannah shook her head. "Unfortunately Metatron kept that secret all to himself. Not even his most loyal would have known. We've interviewed all of them. No one seems to have heard a word about Cas' grace."

"Well, they would lie to keep it a secret, I'm sure." Castiel stated. "I guess we'll have to talk to Metatron then."

"Only you Castiel, Sam should stay out here." Hannah requested.

"What? Why?" Sam asked, offended. Hannah turned to him respectfully.

"We angels, have a trust issue with… humans now." She explained.

"You mean Winchesters, don't you?" Sam asked, understanding where she was coming from.

"Yeah, basically," Hannah admitted. "I know you're nothing like your brother, Sam, but we can't take any chances."

"No it's fine, I understand. I'll just wait here. You'll be okay, Cas?" Sam asked.

Castiel nodded to Sam and walked away.

Castiel opened the door to the jail and closed it behind him. He began walking down the hall to Metatron's cell which was somewhere near the middle.

"Still looking for your grace, Castiel?" a voice floated from one of the cells.

Castiel remained silent and worked his way to the right cell and stood before it. Metatron was sitting against the stone wall, his head back.

"The grace I have now, it won't keep me alive for much longer." Castiel explained. It was obvious to him that Metatron was enjoying himself.

"You know, Castiel, when I first met you and the Winchester's I didn't really have a full on plan to take over heaven. It kind of just sprung into my head. But I always thought that maybe, just maybe, I wouldn't be successful." He sat up and stood to look at Castiel squarely. "So after I performed the spell, I took your grace and I hid it."

"Hid it? Where?" Castiel asked eagerly. Metatron only laughed.

"Well if I told you, then it defeats the purpose of me hiding it now, doesn't it?" Metatron explained. "But, you never know, you can be intelligent from time to time. You may just surprise me."

"This isn't helping." Castiel turned to leave.

"Castiel! Wait! Don't you get it?"

Castiel stopped and turned back, glaring.

"This is a game! Only, your life depends on it." Metatron explained.

Castiel was getting increasingly fed up with Metatron. "Just give me something, anything to work with, please. I let you live. Even though every ounce of angel in me wanted to kill you, I let you live. You owe me."

"_I _owe you?" Metatron asked. "What life did you give me? A millennium of sitting here, twiddling my thumbs. Not a life I'd give to an intelligent being like myself."

Castiel rolled his eyes. "What do you want?"

"Stories, Castiel. Like always. And a typewriter too while you're at it. Don't spare the ink, or the paper!" Metatron listed.

Castiel sighed and started walking back. "I'll see what I can do."

Metatron nodded to himself.


	3. The Attempt

Chapter 3

"Alright, what else was it about that case you gave me. It seemed different than usual." Dean asked. The two demons rode in the Impala again, this time, on more equal terms.

"Look Dean, whatever this is, it has a knack for the creative, and likes to kill. Not only that, but certain organs are removed from each body. Lungs, heart, liver, you name it. And the real kicker is that the FBI has someone in custody-"

"Wait did you say FBI?" Dean cut him off.

"Would it kill you to let me finish?" Crowley looked at him annoyed and there was brief silence in the car. "The real kicker is that the man they have in custody claims he didn't do it."

"Isn't that just the M. O. for all serial killers?" Dean asked. "Okay, but really, if this is a monster, which it sounds close enough to be, organs missing, creatively placed deaths, it could be any possible god out there looking for a sacrifice. How was the first one found?"

"Placed in the middle of a field on a Stag's head, bare bits showing and all." Crowley studied Dean as he was driving.

"And the second one was found in a cabin on Stag antlers? And both young girls?" Dean received a quick nod. "Well then there's obviously a pattern there. It's probably a woods god."

"Aha, I see you haven't lost your knack for hunting." Crowley happily said.

"You said there was FBI involved." Dean stated and glanced at Crowley.

"Yeah, so what?" Crowley replied.

"So, I can't pretend to be FBI _in _FBI, that's what." Dean stated, his hand hitting the side of the steering wheel at a steady pace. They had just entered Maryland and would only be an hour from making their first stop.

"You'll have to get in through a different way then, and I think… I know how to help you with that," Crowley shifted in his seat. "The psychiatrist, Lecter, he could be our so called god."

"What, just like that? What are you assuming here? I'm not killing a guy just because you say he's bad," Dean exclaimed.

"He's being accused of being the real murderer." Crowley answered him.

"That doesn't make any sense. If he knows that someone was on to him, why isn't he getting right outta dodge?" Dean thought out loud.

"Maybe he knows nobody can prove anything?" Crowley entertained.

"Yeah, either way, we need to get in touch somehow." Dean stated. "You said he was a psychiatrist, why don't we make an emergency appointment. You distract him and tell him all your problems, and I can go into his house and search the place top to bottom."

"What?! No way! I'm not being a psychiatrist's chew toy, why don't you do it?" Crowley defended. "Besides, people getting inside my head, makes me feel uneasy." He grimaced at the thought. "You have loads of daddy issues; you'll be in there for hours. Then there will be more than enough time for me to get in and out."

Dean rolled his eyes.

"Or…" Crowley continued, "You can just go about this on your own."

"By all means, Crowley, tuck and roll." Dean looked over and Crowley was immediately gone.

Dean cranked up his music until he entered Baltimore. It was getting close to dusk when he pulled into a Sleep Easy motel off the interstate. He booked the room at the farthest corner from the office. Getting inside, Dean threw his duffle lazily on the table supplied and immediately lied down on the bed waiting for the calmness of sleep to take him away, hoping to get an early morning in the next day. He soon realized that no matter how long he lay there with his eyes closed, he couldn't stop thinking about what he left behind at the bunker. He kicked himself at the idea to leave, and not help Castiel recover his grace. He even considered getting in his Impala and driving for another 8 hours back to the bunker just to admit his mistake, that Crowley's case shouldn't take precedence over Castiel, and that he was an asshole for saying it.

But then he remembered the feeling he got when he was near them. It was uncomfortable, like the calm before a storm. It was just an odd anxiety, an itch he couldn't scratch, as if his being near them made him feel like a predator. His thoughts were cut short by an intruding voice in his head. _Demons don't sleep._ He sighed as he came to the realization and sat up in his bed. Now, he was lost as to what he should do.

Dean flipped through the T.V manual. _This place doesn't even have any cable porn, _He thought, _Next time, Dean, say no to the Sleep Easy._

Dean sighed and looked around. He didn't feel hungry, and now that he thought about it, he didn't feel tired to begin with. At a loss as to what he should do, he opened his duffle and pulled out his laptop. He considered going on to , but then realized he didn't really feel like being entertained that way anyways. He sat at the table and flipped open his laptop. He soon found himself skimming through pages of and tales of the Chesapeake Ripper. _He killed three people two years prior to this? _Dean wondered. _No sign of displaying them on stag antlers. What kind of God is this?_

After a few hours Dean took a break from studying the articles. He began feeling restless and needed a change in scenery so he opened the door to his room and breathed in the cool night air. He gazed upward to the heavens and picked out what few stars he could see through the hazy clouds and city light pollution.

Looking down a bit to the parking lot, he got an idea._ It probably won't work._ He thought. With a little faith, Dean raised his right hand and formed it into the shape of a gun. He pointed his index finger up to a nearby lamp post that was shining light over an empty parking stall. One… two… three…

"Kaboom," Dean took his shot with his finger, unsurprised and disappointed when nothing happened. He turned around, ready to go back inside when suddenly he heard a loud _POP! _and then _sizzle…_ He turned to look at his light bulb which completely shattered onto the pavement below.

"Nice!" he praised, and then there was another quick _POP! _like the last one which Dean saw was the one next to the first one that popped. Not a second after that one, every streetlight in a 500 meter radius began to pop one after the other. Dean quickly went inside and locked his door, feeling like a kid who just pulled the fire alarm down as a dare. Guiltily, he looked up next to the door where sat a lit wall sconce. He looked at it intently and sure enough-

_POP!_

"Dammit…"

* * *

"So what did he say?" Sam approached Castiel eagerly. Castiel avoided looking at Sam.

"He's being… difficult," Castiel said, ashamed. "But I am certain it's still out there."

"Okay, well, uh, let's think for a moment," Sam tried to help. "Anna, she said that her grace fell to Earth when she ripped it out. And it landed right where a certain miracle tree grew. Maybe we should look for miracles?"

Castiel shook his head. "I'd be able to sense it at work if it was on Earth. I don't know Sam, something just doesn't feel right about this."

From across the room, Hannah walked over to the two of them. "Metatron has what he wants, Castiel. He gave me this to give to you. He said it was your first clue."

Castiel sighed over the idea that Metatron was sending him on a wild goose chase. He accepted the gift, but handed it over to Sam without giving it a glance.

"Thank you Hannah, you have no idea how much you've done for me." Castiel said. Sam looked surprised as Castiel spoke. "Listen, I think it's time I accept that I may not make it out of this alive. I may never get my grace back."

"Castiel, there's always hope, we _can _find it-" Castiel silenced her.

"I just need you to do me a favour. If- likely when- I die, that you'll take care of heaven. Can you do that?" He asked "No more factions, no more fighting, just keep heaven safe and secure."

Hannah nodded sincerely. "Yes, of course."

Castiel turned to leave with Sam.

"Castiel, wait." Hannah requested. Her angel blade fell into her hand from her suit jacket and every angel in the room went quiet and still. Slowly, she sliced open a bit of her wrist and a bright light shined through. With the blade, she cut out a piece of her grace.

"Hannah, what are you doing?" Castiel asked, highly concerned.

"This is for you, Castiel, to keep you going even if just for a little while." She replied. She put away her blade and healed her wrist. A small amount of grace was cupped in her left hand which she handed over to Castiel.

"Hannah, I can't accept this." Castiel refused.

"This isn't like last time, Castiel; I'm giving it to you." Hannah pulled his hand toward her and placed the grace inside.

"Thank you." Castiel replied simply. The grace was immediately absorbed by Castiel's body. She nodded, and looked around at all the angels who paused from their work. As she looked around, they went back to what they were doing as though nothing had happened. When she turned back to Sam and Castiel, they were already gone.

Sam flipped through the pages of the book that was sent by Metatron. It was old, and yellowed and smelled like rotten paper. They sat together at a park bench near a playground. Castiel finally felt as though he had some energy, but he knew better than to wear himself out too soon.

Castiel asked frustrated. "What are we supposed to do with an old book?"

Sam sighed. "It's The Murders in the Rue Morgue, a short story by Edgar Allan Poe."

"And?" Castiel asked again.

"_And_," Sam continued. "I have no idea. If Metatron wanted to yank your chain, I guess he found the perfect way. This is a mystery tale, and Hannah said he called it a clue. Maybe you're supposed to solve the mystery, Cas."

"This is ridiculous," Castiel stood up and paced along the grass.

"Hold on.." Sam started. "This book has something written in it."

"It's a book Sam, books are supposed to have things written in them," Castiel snapped. Sam rolled his eyes.

"Written in. Like with a pen…" Sam explained. "It's in French, but I think I know what it says: Happy 12th Birthday H, Hope you're enjoying Paris, With love, Aunt M."

"And how does that help us?" Castiel asked. Sam looked up at him and shrugged.

"Maybe we should go to Paris?"

* * *

"Dean, you're not a demon, not really,"

"Cas, get out of the way!" Dean shouted the First Blade's power burned fiercely in his hand. Dean couldn't see anything clearly except for who was right in front of him. All he knew was that there was someone in the corner of the room, dark and hidden, something that he wanted to sink his blade into but Castiel wasn't letting him.

Dean charged, breaking everything in his path. A moment before Dean hit his target Castiel stepped in front of him. The First Blade sank deep into Castiel's body and Dean could feel ribs breaking under the force of his muscles. Castiel looked up at him in shock, the light leaving his eyes forever.

Dean opened his eyes, and was sweating a cold sweat. He realized he was on the floor of the motel and that nothing he just experienced was real, no matter how real it may have felt at the time.

"What the hell just happened?" He asked himself out loud. He knew he didn't sleep, so, what was with the nightmare?

"Well I can give you an explanation, but I still feel a little rejected at the moment." Crowley was standing in front of a window, the morning light filtered around him. Dean, feeling groggy, stood up and brushed himself off, and looking mighty pissed as he did.

"Well, enlighten me," Dean requested and sat on the bed. Crowley shrugged and hid a soft smirk and sat down next to him. Dean scooted away, showing his feeling of being uncomfortable. Crowley ignored it.

"You did something last night using your 'super demonic powers'," He mimicked. "Do you mind filling me in on what that was?"

Dean sighed and looked over at the shattered wall sconce. Crowley grew impatient with his stalling.

"Every single light within _FOUR HUNDRED MILES_ exploded, Dean! But!" Crowley took his time "Only, the lights that were on. Care to explain that to me?"

Dean rubbed his forehead with his hand in frustration. "What are you my mother? Mind your own damn business, Crowley."

Crowley chuckled, "If I was you're mother, I'd be dead,"

Dean shot him a glare, his eyes turned black at the sudden turn of anger.

"Get over it, already, will you? It wasn't like I did it." Crowley defended. "Anyways, I thought you might like to know that after you destroyed the entire state's source of light, you were low on demon fuel, and passed out."

"That can happen?" Dean's eyes were normalized now and he seemed calmer.

"Yes, I don't see it very often, but you are untrained. It will take some practice to control your energy. What were you trying to do, anyway?"

Dean rolled his eyes and felt humiliated. "I was trying to shoot out the light of a lamp post."

Crowley nodded and shrugged. "Well, it certainly had an effect. Electrical devices are easier to control, mostly because the demonic energy is easily carried by electrical currents. This goes the same for spirits too. I haven't lost you already, have I?"

"No, no, I get it," Dean said truthfully. "So I could just turn on the TV with the snap of my fingers?"

"Go ahead and try," Crowley supervised. Dean turned to face the television set and took a deep breath. Crowley was staring intently at his pupil and it began making Dean feel uneasy.

"Do you mind?" Dean asked sarcastically and turned back to the television when Crowley backed off. Taking another deep breath, Dean thought about the energy he felt when he shot out the lights. _That was too much energy, maybe less is more_, he thought, and snapped his fingers. The radio by the bedside clicked on, playing Neil Diamond's Cracklin' Rosie far too loud. Crowley covered one ear and snapped his fingers to turn it off. He glared at Dean who rolled his eyes and stood up.

"You're thinking too much Dean!" Crowley enforced. "It's a feeling, a _want_, more than a need. Try again!" Crowley stood up too, hoping for a success.

Dean didn't know how to get into the right frame of mind, but he knew that when he wanted something, he got it. He stared into the dark abyss of the television set. _I just want it to turn on. That's all. The TV, on, TV, on, TV, on, TV… on _Dean snapped his fingers to reveal Dr. Sexy MD during a love scene. Dean smiled widely.

"I did it!" Dean exclaimed. Crowley shook his head.

"Didn't your father ever praise you as a child?" He tutted. "Great job, you're one step closer to becoming a demonic couch potato. Let's move on and get this job started, shall we?"

* * *

"Dean Winchester?" Dr. Lecter addressed after opening the door. Dean nodded in response and stood up from the waiting room chair. "Please, come in." Dr. Lecter smiled politely and Dean walked through the oak door.

Dean held out his hand for Dr. Lecter to shake, and slowly, the door behind them shut quietly.


	4. The Search

Chapter 4

Dean tread lightly through Dr. Lecter's office as he glanced around. It was a grand room with a vaulted ceiling, two bay windows and a library stashed along the outer edge of the second story. All in all, it was impressive for a doctor's office. Dr. Lecter watched his new patient curiously from the door and started walking to his desk on the other side of the room. Dean looked to his new doctor as he started to move and noticed a large and elegant stone fireplace.

"Wowza" Dean muttered under his breath. Hannibal heard him from across the room, smiled to himself and turned around, notebook in hand. He walked toward Dean.

"Over the years I've heard many different terms of approval from my patients, however that one remains new to me." Dr. Lecter spoke with a thick accent that was hard for Dean to place. Dean received his doctor's smile and returned one of his own awkwardly.

"It's hard for me not to recognise it when someone has good taste," Dean replied. "It's hard to come by this day and age."

"In my experience good taste is acquired with age, we can't fault others for being deprived of it," Dr. Lecter motioned Dean to the seat across from his. Dean accepted the offer and sat down abruptly, his legs spread apart rudely and his left elbow violating the glass table sitting next to him. Dr. Lecter hid his judgement and began the session.

"I just want to say, off the bat, that I don't usually do this kind of thing," Dean rambled. Dr. Lecter crossed one leg over the other and held the notebook in his hands unopened.

"It is common for first time counselling patients to be nervous. If they weren't it would mean they'd have no reason to be here. It would be lazy of me to expect that you would pour out your darkest secrets during our first session. Anything you tell me is held in complete confidentiality." Dr. Lecter explained smoothly. Every word he spoke seemed to float off his tongue eloquently. It was then that Dean truly noticed how well put together this man was. His light grey suit was meticulous in its position and his head had nay a stray hair out of place.

"No such thing as confidentiality." Dean started. "The moment I say something too dark would be the moment you'd call the cops."

"Not necessarily true. If, let's say you committed a murder last week and gave me the details today, I'd have no reason to tell anyone anything." Dr. Lecter explained. "However if you planned to murder someone tonight and you told me, I would be obligated to at least make a phone call, like you said."

"Seriously?" Dean scoffed. "Man, I shoulda come to you sooner."

Dean blinked after his slip of the tongue and laughed. "-Only kidding of course."

"Of course," Dr. Lecter responded, smiling. They maintained eye contact for far too long which made Dean unspeakably uncomfortable.

"Let's start with your father," Dr. Lecter began and opened his notebook.

"My father?" Dean rolled his eyes. "Okay Freud, why don't you just tell me I'm sexually frustrated and have an Oedipus Complex."

Dr. Lecter tilted his head at the sudden defense. "Do you have an Oedipus Complex, Mr. Winchester?"

Dean blinked. That response was unexpected and he stuttered. "I-uh- I kinda don't really know what that is. I just hear it all the time."

"All the time?" Lecter confused him. Dean scowled.

"My father was… a hard man to please and we'll just leave it as that." Dean responded and cleared his throat.

"You're defensive behaviour speaks louder than your words," He observed. "I imagine that pleasing your father was hard for everyone in your family."

Dean looked off to the left and rubbed his chin with his hand. "He was fine. He was happy before…" He started to say and Dr. Lecter uncrossed his legs.

"-Before what?" Dr. Lecter prompted.

"Before our mom died," Dean said quickly. "I was four. It was a… fire, and to this day I remember my dad pushing my little brother, who was only a baby at the time, into my arms. He yelled at me to run, and I did. I ran hard and I didn't look back." Dean was surprised at himself.

"But the yelling didn't end after that," Dr. Lecter stated. Dean chuckled darkly and looked at Dr. Lecter.

"No, the yelling got worse." Dean realized he was getting off track of his ultimate purpose. "Do you mind if we take a break and talk about something else for a moment?"

"Not at all, what do you have in mind?" Dr. Lecter asked.

"Well, what about current events? Huh? Lots of stuff going down in America these days, I mean, did you hear about those deaths where some guy flayed people and strung them up like Angels? That's pretty insane, right? As if he knows what Angels look like, huh?" Dean smiled too strongly. Dr. Lecter placed down his notebook.

"Then I see you're a fan of Freddie Lounds' work, Mr. Winchester." Dr. Lecter stated plainly. Dean lost the smile and continued business-like.

"And I see now that so are you," Dean flirted around. Dr. Lecter sighed.

"Ms. Lounds and I have a troubling relationship. She became too involved with the FBI's work and attempted several times to trick me into breaking confidentiality with one of my patients-"

"Will Graham?" Dean interrupted. Dr. Lecter looked at Dean soundly but steadily.

"Yes, Will Graham." Dr. Lecter agreed, unblinking.

"Well, that's funny, because I explicitly remember you stating in one of her articles that you were his friend, not therapist." Dean narrowed his brows.

"Are you trying to interrogate me, Mr. Winchester?" Dr. Lecter asked, seemingly unimpressed with Dean's advances. Dean blinked and sat back in his chair.

"No, I mean, I was just curious to hear your side, that's all." Dean played it off coolly. He straightened his green jacket and the room fell silent.

"Tell me about your little brother," Dr. Lecter moved the conversation along as to straighten out the dead air between them. Dean sighed.

"Well, uh, his name is Sam, and he's quite the, uh, hell-raiser," Dean gave himself a mental high-five for his inside joke.

"You mean as a boy, he was a hell-raiser?" Dr. Lecter tried to clarify.

Dean shook his head. "No, no, I mean every second of his life. But I mean, come on, he still seems like a kid to me. Gotta just forgive and let go, right?"

Dr. Lecter raised his eyebrows. "You took care of him all those years?"

"Yeah, basically since I carried him out of the house in my arms." Dean reminisced.

"Did you consider yourself your brother's guardian as you grew up together?" Dr. Lecter asked.

"Yeah, I guess. And I still do," Dean answered. Dr. Lecter nodded slightly.

"And would you consider yourself successful when raising him?" Dr. Lecter noticed Dean's offended face.

"I wasn't like his mom, alright?" He defended.

"You were also a surrogate father for him too," Dr. Lecter ignored Dean's remark. "You had an intense feeling of responsibility for him. And by your disapproving scowl, I understand that you still feel responsible for him and his decisions."

"He trusted a lot of the wrong people. Well, I guess, so did I. Neither of us were at fault for what happened. It was meant to be." Dean said.

"What happened?" Dr. Lecter asked.

"Trust me, Doc, you wouldn't believe me if I told you." Dean raised his hand in protest to the doctor.

"Why not try me?" Dr. Lecter encouraged and leaned forward.

Dean sighed, stared back at the doctor. Unbeknownst to him, the recall of the last 9 nine years sparked an emotional reaction. Dr. Lecter stared in the pool of darkness that was Dean's eyes.

"The Apocalypse," Dean blinked and the black eyes disappeared. Dr. Lecter reacted softly to the news and leaned back again. He chuckled lightheartedly. Perhaps this new patient was worth the annoyance after all.

* * *

Sam Winchester looked across a grey cobblestone road becoming littered with snow. He placed his hands in the pockets of his beige jacket to keep them warm. Sam Winchester never liked the cold. It had taken Sam and Castiel a few hours to find someone who would be able to direct them to a boarding school in Paris, France. Sam was concerned over Castiel's use of 'zapping' them from place to place, but Castiel would have none of it. The would-be angel remained stubborn and anxious to get his grace back. Sam kept an ear on Castiel who was receiving directions from a concierge who was placed at a podium outside a luxurious hotel.

"C'est tout ce que j'avais besoin de savoir. Merci pour votre temps." Castiel turned away from the concierge and back to the side-walk.

"You sound pretty good for a French guy," Sam joked. Castiel stared back at him condescendingly.

"Not everyone speaks English is this world, you know. There are other languages besides yours," Castiel unfurrowed his brow. "Come on, there's only two boarding schools in the city and only one of them was built before the book was published."

Sam stiffened away from Castiel's hand as he tried to zap them away again.

"Cas, wait. We need to evaluate your situation first." Sam started seriously.

"Sam please, let's just go," Castiel talked back and Sam put on the face he'd show when Dean was being stubborn as an ox.

"No! … Cas, look, we need to save your energy. We don't know how long this game of Metatron's will last and we can't have you down for the count when we need you the most. So, until we need you zap us some place, would you mind laying off the angel powers?" Sam reasoned. Castiel sighed and considered his position. Admitting to his mistaken logic, Castiel shuffled his feet and kept his arms at his sides.

"Taxi then?" Castiel suggested and shrugged. Sam nodded his head and turned his body to the street they were on. Seeing a cab on its way down the road he whistled shrilly and waved it over.

* * *

The two exited the taxi and met up with a large, rusted iron gate. Sam leaned through the window to pay the cab driver who scoffed when he was presented with American cash and drove off without another word.

Castiel was staring through the iron bars. The school looked to be deserted and no longer in use. Snow overtook the cracked concrete pathway and the grey stone walls of the school blended in with the sky. Sam joined his friend at the gate and the two of them pushed as hard as they could to open one of the iron gates. The metal scraped painfully against the concrete ground and left a thick black streak against the ground. The two started walking up the path to the large wooden double doors.

"So, Cas, what exactly are we expecting to find here?" Sam asked. Castiel kept staring ahead of himself, not enjoying the answer that popped into his head when Sam asked the question.

"I don't know. I'm hoping something will just stand out to me." Castiel said. The sun had started to end its reign for the day and set behind the forested area of the school grounds. Sam reached into his back pocket and found a small LED flashlight and gave it to Castiel.

"Here," Sam said. Castiel accepted the gift from him and walked up the stairs. They tried the doors. They were locked.

"No surprise there," Sam said. He reached into an inner coat pocket to find his lock picking kit. As he unraveled its cloth, the doors opened from the inside. Castiel stood there waiting for him to notice.

"Cas, what did we just agree to?" Sam started protesting, but Castiel ignored it.

"Come on, Sam, let's get this over with." Castiel walked inside to be welcomed by a large foyer complete with a split staircase that ascended 5 stories. The last of what little remained of the sun light filtered through neighbouring windows one room over and the angel and the human were left in complete darkness. Castiel's light switched on first, and shortly after, Sam found his main flashlight and shone it to the marble floor in front of him. It was hard to see much. The cold air crystalized Sam's warm breath to make everything in front of him foggier than it should be.

"Maybe we should have waited until morning to do this, Cas," Sam suggested. He waited for a reply but there was none. "Cas? … Cas!?"

Sam darted from room to room, not paying much attention to the chairs and tables he often neglected to avoid. Finally, he found Castiel squatting down in front of an old ashy fireplace.

"Cas! What the hell, I was calling you," Sam erupted. "What did you find?"

"A body." Castiel stated plainly. "It's at least twenty years old."

Sam was taken aback. "You found a body in a fireplace?"

"Yes," Castiel sighed. "It looks like she died of a broken neck."

Sam squatted down next to Castiel and examined the remains. It was a large body; not that of a child's and the bones were charred.

"Someone burned the body," Sam said. Castiel nodded and then stood up. Soon, Sam heard the smash of a lamp hitting the floor. He stood up and looked to see Castiel ransack the large room. With his right hand Castiel threw a vase through one of the windows. Sam, being accustomed to spouts of physical aggression during times of stress, allowed Castiel his time to fume.

"What does Metatron want from me!?" Castiel's hands pressed against each side of his head as though trying to contain an explosion. Both hands unable to take the strain of the anger curled themselves into fists and slammed down hard on the round, wooden table in front of him. The table broke into a thousand pieces at the angel's feet. Castiel squatted down low once again and buried his face in one of his hands. "I don't understand, Sam. I just…" He mumbled.

"Cas," Sam approached him warily. "We'll figure it out, but we need to focus. All hands on deck here, okay?" Sam received no answer. "Where's the book Metatron gave you?"

Castiel pointed over to the broken lamp in the corner of the room. The book was lying there, open to a page that Sam noticed a few words from that interested him.

"Cas, get up! It's here; we're in the right place." Sam walked back to the fireplace. Castiel followed him back as Sam started to explain.

"The story in this book, it's a murder mystery. In it, a body was stashed in the chimney of a house and was greatly mangled. I mean, body, chimney, this has got to be it, Cas." Sam explained.

"And who murdered her in the story?" Castiel asked. Sam flipped through the pages, his flashlight held in by his teeth.

"Uh…", Sam started and lacked a follow up.

"'Uh…' what?" Castiel mimicked rudely.

"An Orangutan" Sam said. Castiel turned around and started walking back out the front door. Sam ran up to follow him. "Cas, wait-"

"Does this not seem like an utter waste of time to you, Sam?" Castiel questioned. "I'd much rather be figuring out a way to help Dean become human again, than run a wild goose chase for the sake of Metatron's entertainment."

"Cas, I'm going to tell you something and I'm only going to say it once. Dean can take care of himself… and to be completely honest, I should have seen that he was changing into a demon. I should have seen it miles off. But the fact remains that he abandoned us. He did. Now, I want nothing more for him to be my brother again, but I don't know how much of my brother is left in that demon. I'm scared to hell that when I get back I'll find that Dean isn't Dean anymore, and if that happens, I need you with me." Sam finished his speech and Castiel nodded. "You come first this time, not him, and I'm going to stand by your side until you're a hundred percent again. Got it?"

Castiel sighed in frustration. "I got it. Thank you, Sam."

"You're welcome Cas, don't mention it." Sam said. "Hey, actually, do you mind using a little angel juice now?"

Castiel and Sam stood in front of the fireplace and watched as Castiel's hand fired a blue light to illuminate an Enochian symbol planted into the wall above the hearth.

"What does that mean?" Sam asked.

"It's the equivalent to your exclamation mark." Castiel said. "Let's knock it down."

The wall was broken by brute force. Sam refused to allow Castiel to use his powers when he could use an old metal chair leg instead. Sam was thankful it was only drywall. The dust eventually cleared, revealing one more book to their mystery series.

"Homer's The Odyssey?" Castiel read aloud. "I know that one."

"I should hope you do," Sam chuckled. "Pop culture savvy, my ass."

"Shut up." Castiel said and opened the book to reveal another note.

_Dearest H, _

_Continue on the path God has chosen for you, _

_Do not dwell on the past,_

_M._

The two read the writing and looked at each other as they knew now, that there really was a purpose for these books.


	5. The Creature

Chapter 5

It had been some time since Hannibal Lecter had felt the craving for a strong drink. Will Graham, whom he truly understood and cared for, had been in the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane for nearly three weeks. It was 7:00 in the evening, and the Sun had set early, leaving Lecter in the dark of his office with only the fire light to accompany him. That Dean Winchester fellow was an interesting sort. He talked all kinds of strange things to Dr. Lecter. Something told him that the fellow never got to tell anyone much of anything about his life. Hannibal understood the secrecy and the desire to bear one's soul to another being; it is what had unfurled in his own life, after all, with Dr. Du Maurier. Hannibal, deeply immersed in his thoughts and drink had little reaction to the noise behind him. He heard a shuffle of glass and a liquid being poured.

"That wine is aged seventy-five years," Hannibal said, not bothering to look behind his chair to see the visitor. Crowley picked up his glass and calmly carried it to the chair opposite Hannibal. He sat politely and sniffed his wine. He scrunched his face.

"Smells more like a thirty," Crowley corrected. Hannibal raised an eyebrow slightly in his direction and smirked.

"Well, part of it is thirty," Hannibal admitted. "The grapes are seventy-five."

"I always knew I could count on you for a decent vintage," Crowley sipped and let the taste of the wine linger in his mouth.

"I have to admit, Crowley, I never thought I would be seeing you again; not in this lifetime." Hannibal stated. "I met someone today, I assume you sent him?"

"What did he tell you?" Crowley asked.

"I'm not at liberty to discuss details, however he did seem to express an alarming amount of self-hatred and regret. I have to assume that with eyes that dark, his nature is past the point of suicidal." Hannibal took a sip of his wine and continued to stare into the flames.

"You'd be correct," Crowley stared at Dr. Lecter, studying his face. "Dr. Lecter… It's come to my attention that your deal will be coming due in three months' time." Crowley stated.

"I've been keeping record, and yes, it is." Hannibal answered.

"How would you like to extend it?" Crowley asked. "A man with your talents I don't want to waste away in the bottomless pits of my hometown. The work you do here is monumental to me. I've seen your creations, and I would like a chance to invest."

"How many more years will I have?" Hannibal asked. Crowley smiled.

"How about another ten- heck, we'll throw in an extra five. Make it fifteen more years of you doing what you do best." Crowley dealt.

"And in return, what do you want me to do with Mr. Winchester?" Hannibal asked and glanced at Crowley.

"Convince him of something," Crowley started. "Convince him to become more like you. Make him detached from the rest of the world. And above all, I need him to trust me and you more than anyone else. I need more like you out on this Earth, Dr. Lecter, one man is not enough."

"Mr. Winchester is a hunter. When he finds out what I truly am, he will not be pleased." Hannibal insinuated, swirling his wine.

"He won't ever know what you truly are," Crowley promised. "I will make sure of that." Crowley stood up from the chair and walked back to Hannibal's desk. He paused near the table and placed down his wine glass that was half empty. He rubbed his hands together. "It's been a pleasure doing business with you, as always."

In a moment, Crowley disappeared, leaving Hannibal Lecter alone with his thoughts once again, and an extra fifteen years of his life left to live.

* * *

Dean Winchester sat on the side of his bed in the motel, mindlessly wiping down the ivory of his favourite gun.

"You're not seriously going to try to use that, are you?" Crowley gruff accent filled the room, shocking Dean to stand up and look at him.

"Just because I don't plan on using it doesn't mean I can't take care of it," Dean snapped. "Where the hell have you been, anyways? I came back from that appointment five hours ago. What did you find in his house?"

"Hm, nothing." Crowley said simply and shrugged. "It must be something else doing this. I searched it thoroughly from top to bottom."

"Doesn't mean he can't have a lair elsewhere," Dean suggested. "He was a little odd during the session, very calm throughout the whole thing. Almost creepy, I'd say." He shrugged as he spoke. "Never the less I wore my silver ring, it didn't burn him when I shook his hand, so that crosses out a handful of beasts. Maybe I'll be able to shake it out of him at our next meeting."

"You're going back?" Crowley asked, almost flabbergasted. "What for?"

"It helped to get some stuff off my chest, is all. If it turns out he's a monster, I'll kill him. Simple." Dean said.

"Yeah, simple." Crowley remarked sarcastically.

"What's got your panties in a knot?" Dean asked. "I'm here, I'm doing the job, simple."

"Never mind. Have you gone to see Graham yet?" Crowley asked.

"I tried, they have that placed locked down way too well. Not even I could slip through there. Being Press isn't doing the job as well as being FBI does. They run a tight shift because of that Freddie Lounds character. If only I could get in with a different cover."

"Or you could just be yourself," Crowley suggested.

"Wow. Thanks, Mrs. Brady, but I'm perfectly fine with my self-image," Dean remarked instinctually, but as a moment passed he understood what Crowley had actually meant.

* * *

"NO, NO, NO, NO!"

"Calm the hell down, I'm trying my best here!" Dean exclaimed angrily. His eyes were jet black just because of pure frustration. "Teleporting looks a lot easier than it is, okay?"

"No kidding! Clear your head Dumbo, you only need to disappear here and reappear there, like you did with your car, remember that feeling?" Crowley exclaimed, walking through the dense underbrush of Elk Neck State Forest.

Dean warily looked on as Crowley approached him. He nodded to Crowley's question and took a short breath. He concentrated hard on a single spot near a tree. Crowley leaned in a little closer to Dean.

"Constipated?" Crowley asked and disappeared before a swing could hit him. Crowley appeared near the spot by the tree and leaned against it. Dean was sick of Crowley's attitude and charged, only for Crowley to switch around to a different spot once again.

"I'm not chasing you around like a damn dog, Crowley, tell me something useful!" Dean yelled. Crowley appeared sitting on top of the Impala, checking his nails. Dean poised and stared at Crowley like he was a dead man. "I'm only going to tell you once, get off my baby."

Crowley looked at him, "Or what?"

"Or I'll rip out your throat, that's what!" Dean charged one more time. Again, to no surprise, Crowley was gone.

"Interesting." Crowley appeared 10 meters behind Dean at this point.

Dean took the bait. "What is?"

"You." Crowley said and began to pace. "Typically, demons like myself start out fuelling their powers by using pure hatred… But I've noticed, that you are an exception."

Dean narrowed his eyes at the demon. "What's your point?"

"Well, my point is, that you've been fuelled by hatred your whole life, Dean. Maybe hatred doesn't work for you."

"So what, I should do yoga and get my zen and then I'll be able to teleport?" Dean tried to joke, but he knew what Crowley's answer would be before it was said.

"Worth a try, don't you think?"

"Yeah, maybe," Dean agreed half-heartedly, but was distracted by a ringing cell phone sitting on his front seat. He walked over and checked the call. It was exactly who he thought it would be, Sam. Dean considered answering it, but put the phone face-down on the seat again instead.

"Aren't you going to answer your moose?" Crowley asked. "Or it is the other one, the ball of fluff in an overcoat?"

Dean rolled his eyes and didn't answer him. "You said zen, let's do zen."

Crowley cleared his throat. "I don't know if zen is really the right word." Taking an indication that Dean had no idea what he was referring to, Crowley continued. "Dean, Dean, Dean… You're problem, you're number one problem, is that you care too much. You care about everyone else, your guns, your car, and not enough about yourself. Who cares that Moosey called? Who cares that people are dying right now? People die all the time. Some deserve hell, others get heaven. That's the way the dice are rolled, and you need to stop caring about them. That's the only way you'll be able to let go of that pent up rage boiling away inside of you."

Dean leaned up against the Impala, and although he felt like protesting Crowley's reason with his own words and actions, he couldn't deny that Crowley had a point. In fact, he felt guilty admitting it, but he felt that Crowley was right. "Is that how you feel?" he inquired.

"More or less," Crowley replied. "But I have a sense of purpose, always have. I just don't let anyone get in my way."

Dean nodded. "You know that would mean changing my entire perspective, right? Can't exactly do that in one day."

"I like to think of it as a slight alteration. Look, the sun is about to go down, I'll take you into the hospital myself to make it easier."

"Fine," Dean gruffly answered. And they both vanished from the woods leaving the Impala behind.

* * *

Castiel flipped through the yellow pages of his new found book, using the light of Sam's flashlight as help to read in the darkness. Sam, on the other hand, was calling his brother, and letting it ring.

At some point in between the pages, Castiel spotted a small cut-out from an old French newspaper that was preserved there. He lifted it out and flipped it open. Castiel read the article and furrowed his brow.

"What does it say?" Sam noticed his friend's reaction and hung up the phone, not bothering to leave a message.

"Three boys were butchered here in this school in 1967. The murderer was never found and organs from each boy, a heart, a liver, and a kidney were all missing." Castiel explained.

"So it's some kind of sick ritual maybe? Like a sacrifice?" Sam thought out loud.

Castiel squinted at him. "Perhaps."

_Thunk!_

_Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick_.

The sudden loud sound came from the room that sat above them. Sam and Cas' heads shot up and their eyes and Sam's flashlight followed the ticking noise as it traveled across the ceiling. The ticking continued like the sound of a dog's nails against a hardwood floor, only they knew that if this was in fact a dog, it was gargantuan. Their eyes followed the noise to the spot where the chimney was located where it finally stopped in dead silence. The two looked at each other briefly, and realized neither of them was prepared for what was about to happen.

Sam and Castiel reacted at the same time, and with the same plan. They raced to the nearest large, over-thrown table and together they slammed it against the opening of the fireplace hoping it would keep the beast, whatever it was, at bay. Right before the creature thundered down the chimney, Sam and Cas had settled with their backs against the underside of the table, holding it in place. The thunderous landing was followed by another eerie silence. Sam and Cas exchanged glances, and Sam even began to think _"Maybe it was just an overgrown bat?-"_

His thought of hope was cut from him as he jumped at the pointed object that stabbed clean through the heavy, wooden plank. Both of them wide eyed, stared at the sharp, black object in horror. The thing, whatever it was, began charring the wood around it. The centre of the table began turning to white-hot coals right before their eyes growing closer to both of them every second. Any moment now, the table would shatter to pieces and the boys would be meat. Sam and Cas agreed silently to stand-up and face the creature head on. Sam grabbed the metal chair leg he used earlier to break the hole in the wall as his weapon of choice. Castiel's angel blade descended from his coat sleeve and was poised to fight to the death.

The creature realized that all resistance was gone against the table holding it back and soon the table was torn in two and thrown across to each side of the room in a bright sparking display. It was too dark for the boys to make out what the creature truly looked like.

A single loud screech pierced the air and the creature, which looked like an overgrown centipede started charging head on at Sam. He attempted his best major league swing at the creature. The metal connected with the creature's scaly skin and sizzled to the point where the metal turned red from heat. In a split second, the creature knocked Sam onto his back, his forearms narrowly missing the creature's front spikes which pinned him to the ground by his cost sleeves. Sam stared into the creature's horrifying face. Six eyes, all glowing red, were hungrily testing the man. From behind, Castiel leapt onto the creature's back. He lifted up the angel blade and brought it down between two scales on the creature's back as hard as he possibly could.

The creature screeched loudly once more, this time in pain, and pulled away from Sam. It lifted itself up on its hind quarters and Castiel fell back onto the floor, the angel blade still stuck in the creature sealing the wound.

"Cas! What the hell is this thing?!" Sam yelled, standing upright. Cas ran to Sam's side. The fight wasn't over yet.

"I don't know!" Cas answered back and got an idea. He pulled at Sam's collar and dragged him back through the door as the creature watched and became angrier. "We need to move up! To higher ground!"

Together the two chased themselves up the grand staircase of the boarding school, the creature in tow. Sam and Castiel ran without looking back, skipping two, maybe three steps at a time as they went up. Finally, they reached the top of the school. The creature had slowed down some because of the angel blade that was still shoved into its back. Castiel looked up at the ceiling of the final floor.

"What are you looking for?!" Sam asked hurriedly, uncertain of his friend's plan.

"A way to the attic! Do you see one?" Castiel asked. They could hear the ticking footsteps of the monster only one flight of stairs away from where they were.

Sam understood. "Check the doors for a set of stairs!" Sam checked the set of doors on his side of the stairwell as Castiel checked his.

"Sam! I found it!" Cas yelled and ran up the staircase. Sam ran for the door, narrowly escaping the creature behind him who traced its attackers through the door.

Sam, racing up the 10 steps to the attic was pulled back suddenly by the creature's spike. He felt searing pain in his left shoulder where he felt the spike drive itself through his flesh. He fell down in a heap unconscious; the creature crawled over him, leaving him to die in a pool of warm blood. A meal meant for later. For now, Castiel was his target.

Castiel whipped around and expected to see Sam Winchester at his side. Instead, he only faced the creature in the haunting moonlight that filtered through the large, cracked, stain-glass window of the school.

"Sam!? Are you okay?" Castiel called out into the abyss, receiving no answer. Castiel swallowed his fear of what may have happened and concentrated on the creature instead. He narrowed his eyes at the creature which seemed to glare back in response. Castiel backed up strategically and prepared himself for anything.

"Come and get it ass butt!" Castiel called out his famous last words and the creature charged toward him. Castiel allowed himself to be smashed through the seven story window at the mercy of this monster. He reached around to the monster's back and pulled out his angel blade which had hardly been damaged by the creature's heat. Climbing onto the creature's back as the two hurtled toward the snowy concrete below, Castiel shoved the blade into the creature's neck and with one swift motion, beheaded it.

_Fffthump!_

With one hand still gripping the angel blade, and the other gripping the creature's head, the angel rolled himself off the back of the creature and onto his back, covered in blood; a mixture of his own, and the creatures. He felt out of breath after the fall and sat up coughing. Red blood spewed out onto the white snow. Disheartened, he remembered Sam, and tried to teleport. When he realized he had no angelic energy left, he resigned and stood up. Immediately, he felt dizzy and sick and fell to his knees and hands. Feeling as though this was the end to his story, he gave up and looked back at the creature that did this to him. It was an ugly thing, all scales and spikes, ten legs at least, and pincers in its mouth. And who could forget the six red eyes?

But then Castiel noticed something else too.

A small light emanated from the creature's throat and Castiel spared the energy to crawl over and look. Castiel reached in and pulled out a small glass jar, not larger than a knuckle on his pinky finger, inhabiting a small amount of grace and a cork to keep it in. Castiel eagerly opened the jar and his body rejuvenated immediately.

Meeting Sam in the attic, he placed two fingers on Sam's forehead, healing him back to his normal self.

"Come on Sam," He addressed as Sam opened his eyes and looked around the attic "let's find more of my grace."


End file.
